


What If It Would've Been Me?

by AgtSpooky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-02
Updated: 2007-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgtSpooky/pseuds/AgtSpooky
Summary: For cattraine, who wanted a scene after the end of the original story, "Don't Let Me Go," with h/c and Dean in a bar fight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title** : What If It Would’ve Been Me?  
**Author** : [ ](http://agt-spooky.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://agt-spooky.livejournal.com/)**agt_spooky**  
**Pairing** : Sam/Dean  
**Rating** : PG-13 to R  
**Word Count** : 2,520  
**Genre** : Angst  
**Warnings** : Wincest  
**Spoilers** : Faith  
**Disclaimer** : I don’t own them, more’s the pity. Just borrowing!  
**Author’s Notes** : Written for the SPN “timestamp” fic meme  
  
**Summary** : For [ ](http://cattraine.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cattraine.livejournal.com/)**cattraine** , who wanted a scene after the end of the original story, with h/c and Dean in a bar fight. Then it took a total angsty turn as I started writing it. :-)  
  
  
  
 

**What If It Would’ve Been Me?**  
By AgtSpooky  
  
February 19, 2007

  
  
  
(Eight months after the events of Don’t Let Me Go)  
  
  
The channels on the TV flipped slowly by, one after the other, Sam not really registering anything that was on the screen, eyelids drooping. It’d been another long day in the car, his knees jammed up under the dashboard as he futilely searched for a comfortable position as his brother drove.  
  
Hunger finally forced Dean to stop a few hours ago, around eight o’clock, and they ate their fill at the local diner here in Fremont, Washington. It didn’t take much convincing to get his older brother to stop for the night at the motel just down the street, past the bowling alley, the laundromat, the bar and the video rental place. Sam had seen the tiredness around Dean’s eyes, knew that his brother needed a good night’s sleep after their last, difficult hunt had ended in the early hours this morning.  
  
So Sam went inside the motel office and got their room – two doubles, though one bed would remain unused – while Dean grabbed their duffels out of the trunk of the Impala.  
  
Sam immediately stretched out his long frame on the closest bed with a groan, trying to work out the stiffness in his body, while Dean claimed the first shower. Sam picked up the remote and started idly flipping channels on the TV until he came across a movie that captured his attention. He toed off his shoes and crossed his arms behind his head, settling in to watch the movie, just relax for a bit.  
  
The bathroom door opened a while later and a cloud of steam emerged, followed by his near naked brother. Dean had a towel slung low around his hips, his skin pink and dotted with water droplets, rubbing another towel over his hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes.  
  
Sam made an appreciative noise and Dean turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, then dropped both towels to the floor, giving Sam a smirk and a wink, before turning away and bending over to grab clean clothes from his bag.  
  
Sam groaned and palmed himself through his jeans. “Tease.”  
  
Dean just chuckled and threw Sam another wink as he pulled on his black boxer briefs.  
  
“You comin’ to bed?” Sam asked him.  
  
Dean shook his head. “Feel better after the shower. Gonna hit the computer for a bit,” he answered, pulling on a t-shirt, much to Sam’s disappointment.  
  
“ ‘kay,” Sam replied, turning his attention back to the movie.  
  
Two hours later the movie was over and Dean was still on the computer, so Sam resigned himself to just flipping channels once again. But his body had other plans, and he felt himself start to drift off, but was suddenly startled awake again by the sound of his brother slamming his fist onto the table he was sitting at. Sam jerked at the noise, eyes flying over to the older man.  
  
Dean’s fist was still resting on the table top, his jaw clenched tight. Sam watched as Dean’s eyes closed and he dug his thumb and forefinger into the corners, pressing deep.  
  
Sam sat up, concern etching his voice. “Dean? What is it? What’s wrong?”  
  
Instead of answering, his brother worked the keys and touchpad on the computer for a second, then stood up so suddenly that his chair nearly tipped over. He moved quickly to his duffle bag, pulling on a pair of jeans almost violently, jamming his bare feet into his boots before grabbing his leather jacket.  
  
He strode to the door, yanking it open, his voice tight as he looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Don’t follow me.”  
  
Dumbfounded, Sam could only sit there as the door slammed behind his brother. Rousing himself a moment later, he went over to the computer, hoping to find some clue as to Dean’s strange actions. The Google homepage was staring at him, and when he clicked on the History button, it was empty. Dean had cleared the browser’s cache.  
  
Sam sat down in the chair with a sigh, wanting nothing more than to go after Dean and find out what the hell was going on, but in the end decided to respect his brother’s wishes and give him the time alone he so obviously wanted or needed, for whatever reason.  
  
~~~~~  
  
But by the time 1:30 am rolled around and Dean still hadn’t returned to the motel, Sam had had enough of waiting around. He slipped his feet into his shoes and pulled on his jacket and headed out to find his brother.  
  
The Impala was still in it’s parking space, so Dean couldn’t have gone far. Sam walked out of the parking lot and looked up and down the street, spying the neon sign three doors down – Breaker’s Bar. It had to have been Dean’s destination.  
  
Sam walked quickly down the deserted street, hearing the music from the bar before he even reached the door. Pulling it open, Sam’s senses were assaulted with a pounding bass line, cigarette smoke and the sound of many voices. He stood there for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, scanning the interior of the bar for his brother.  
  
Angry voices diverted his attention from his search and he turned his head – in time to see his brother stagger off his bar stool and poke his finger into the chest of a very large man sitting next to him. He couldn’t hear what Dean said, but the other man rose, towering over him, slapping Dean’s finger away with one hand while rearing back with his other.  
  
The punch was thrown before Sam could take a step and he saw his brother’s head snap back. The other man grabbed a fistful of Dean’s shirt and struck him again in the face.  
  
And Dean did nothing to defend himself.  
  
A crowd started to form around the two men and it took Sam precious seconds to push his way through, to get to his brother’s side, in time to hear Dean hurl another insult at the man.  
  
Another punch was thrown before Sam could get between the two men and this one drove his brother to his knees, again not raising his own hands to strike back or block the blows.  
  
“Enough!” Sam yelled and shoved the other man backwards, away from Dean, before crouching down beside his brother.  
  
“Get ‘im the hell outta here!” the other man yelled back, pointing at Dean.  
  
“Screw – “ Dean started but Sam cut him off sharply.  
  
“Shut up, Dean! We’re leaving!”  
  
He hauled his intoxicated brother to his feet and manhandled him through the bar and out onto the sidewalk, where he turned to face him.  
  
Dean’s face was a mess, blood running from his nose and a gash on his cheek, one of his eyes already starting to swell up. He was swaying on his feet, jaw tense with anger.  
  
“What the _hell_ , Dean?!” Sam yelled. “What’re you – “  
  
“Leave me the fuck alone!” Dean shouted back, shoving at Sam’s chest, succeeding only in throwing himself off balance in his drunken state. He staggered, and Sam caught him by his upper arms.  
  
“ _Christ_ ,” Sam swore, swinging one of Dean’s arms over his shoulder and wrapping one of his own arms around his brother’s waist before Dean fell down.  
  
He proceeded to half-walk, half-drag his drunk sibling down the sidewalk, back to their motel room, with Dean trying to push him away the entire time.  
  
Once inside, Sam released Dean and before Sam knew what was happening, Dean was swinging at him. Caught off-guard, Dean’s fist connected with the side of Sam’s head, luckily without much force behind the drunk punch.  
  
“You – it’s your faul – “ Dean slurred, anger behind his words, as Sam took a stutter-step back from his brother in confusion.  
  
“Why didn’t you jus’ let me – “ Another swing, but this time Sam was ready and sidestepped his brother’s fist.  
  
Dean’s momentum from the missed punch nearly turned him around in his uncoordinated condition, and Sam grabbed for him as the alcohol in his brother’s system finally got the better of him and he started to pass out.  
  
Dean was dead weight in Sam’s arms as he dragged him over to the bed before depositing him unceremoniously onto the mattress. Sam looked down at his unconscious older brother in helpless confusion, at a loss to explain Dean’s behavior tonight.  
  
For a moment he considered leaving Dean just as he was, bloodied and fully clothed. It would serve him right to wake up this way, after his actions tonight. But then Sam sighed and relented. Dean was obviously upset about something and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and get him cleaned up.  
  
So he set about wrestling most of Dean’s clothing off of him – boots, jeans and his leather jacket before heading into the bathroom for two wet washcloths, one warm and one cold. A quick stop at his duffle bag to get the small first aid kit and then he kneeled down on the floor beside the bed.  
  
Sam carefully cleaned the blood off of Dean’s face with the warm washcloth, his older brother never stirring at the touch. He gently touched Dean’s nose, grateful to find it wasn’t broken, then placed a small bandage on the gash on Dean’s cheek. The ice machine was broken, so a cold washcloth was going to have to suffice instead, and Sam pressed it against Dean’s eye, hoping to help prevent any swelling. And even that sensation was not enough to wake Dean from his drunken stupor.  
  
When the washcloth grew warm in his hand, Sam removed it from Dean’s eye, then took it and the other washcloth back into the bathroom, tossing them in the sink.  
  
Back out at the bed, Sam managed to pull the blankets out from under his brother, then cover him with them. After a moment’s hesitation and a glance at the other empty bed, Sam stripped down to his boxers, then climbed in beside Dean. Sleep was elusive, though, Sam’s mind still running in circles over Dean’s behavior, and it was hours later before his eyes finally drifted closed.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
It was the sensation of being watched that pulled Sam from his slumber many hours later. He cracked open one eye and found Dean laying on his side, staring at him.  
  
Before he could say anything, however, Dean spoke.  
  
“She’s dead.”  
  
Sam blinked. “What? Who’s dead?” he asked, voice gravelly with sleep.  
  
“Layla.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes and swallowed deeply. Now Dean’s actions last night became perfectly clear – getting blind drunk then deliberately starting a fight with the biggest guy in the bar, knowing, _wanting_ , to get beat up, not lifting a finger to defend himself, Dean’s form of self-punishment for being alive when Layla wasn’t.  
  
And then back here at the motel room, Dean taking a swing at him - _Why didn’t you jus’ let me_ – blaming Sam for saving him, for not letting him die and therefore letting Layla live.  
  
Sam opened his eyes. “How do you know?”  
  
Dean’s voice was rough. “I’ve been watching for her obituary online. She said – she said she only had six months. But it’s been longer than that and I hadn’t seen anything, so I started to hope…”  
  
“Dean…”  
  
Dean’s eyes were bright with unshed moisture. “She had such faith, Sam. I really thought she was gonna beat this.”  
  
“God, Dean, I’m so sorry,” Sam said softly. “I never wanted things to turn out like they did. I wish to god we could’ve saved Layla, too. Because she deserved to live just as much as you did.”  
  
Dean sat up, shook his head. “It should’ve been her, Sam, not me…”  
  
Now Sam sat up, angry. “Stop it. Just _stop it_ , Dean. I can’t stand hearing you say that. Roy was right, Dean, you _do_ have an important purpose. Look how much you’ve done, all the lives you’ve saved, risking your own every time. And most people don’t even know what you’ve done, don’t even say thank you. But it doesn’t stop you.”  
  
Dean’s eyes caught Sam’s, then flicked away again, and he remained silent.  
  
“There are a lot more lives out there that need saving from all the evil in this world, Dean. Your life _is_ meaningful. So I can’t be sorry for my decision to take you to see Roy, and not just because of what I just said, but because you mean everything to me. And the thought of losing you…just when we’d found each other again after so long…” Sam paused to swallow around the sudden tightness in his throat, and Dean again caught his gaze, but this time didn’t look away.  
  
“I know you still blame me for how everything turned out in Nebraska. That it’s my fault,” Sam continued. “You said as much last night – “  
  
“Sam, no,” Dean cut in. “I didn’t mean – “  
  
“Yes, you did,” Sam replied and Dean’s eyes lowered. “But let me ask you this. What if it would’ve been me, Dean? What if it would’ve been me lying in that hospital bed, dying? What would _you_ have done?” Sam asked, demanded, knowing the answer, wanting, daring Dean to admit it.  
  
Dean looked back up at Sam, jaw clenched, muscle jumping and for a minute Sam thought he wouldn’t answer.  
  
“Anything,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth, voice gruff with emotion. “I’d have done anything.”  
  
Then Dean’s mouth was crashing against his, his body pushing Sam’s back down onto the bed, his body covering Sam’s. The kiss was forceful, hungry, almost bruising in it’s intensity. Sam could do nothing but wrap his arms around Dean and hold on tightly as he rode out the storm of his brother’s conflicting emotions.  
  
Long minutes later Dean finally pulled back from the kiss, breathing harshly, lips shiny and swollen, face flushed. Sam took a minute to catch his breath before cupping the back of his brother’s head.  
  
“God, Dean, c’mere,” Sam breathed, urging Dean back down, claiming his lips, this time for a lingering, gentle kiss, full of words that the Winchester brothers could never say out loud to each other.  
  
Sam swallowed Dean’s soft moan as he slipped his tongue inside his brother’s mouth, sliding velvet-soft against Dean’s own. The kiss went on, long and unhurried, their bodies wrapped around each other, hands touching and caressing. It was only when Sam felt the tension finally drain from his brother’s body that he released Dean’s lips.  
  
Pulling back, staring into Dean’s face, so open at that moment with raw emotion, Sam’s words were a fierce, broken whisper.  
  
“You’re always so quick to sacrifice yourself, especially for me, and I hate it, Dean. I _hate_ it. I know you don’t think your life is important, but I swear to god I’ll keep telling you it is, every single day, until you believe it.”  
  
Dean’s throat worked, but no words came out, and he simply dropped his head onto Sam’s bare shoulder, where he let his silent tears fall.  
  
**THE END**


End file.
